Brutality Is All I've Ever Known
by Waiting To Be Broken
Summary: A story about Mickey's firsts and how they had defined him. Or the things that would have stopped Mickey from showing at Gallagher's house with a rose but didn't.


**A/N** I get obsessed so easily... But hey, they are a really... cute... couple. And they are real, like canon! How rare is that in our lives? I'm not really sure about the rating but with Mickey's mouth... And the genre... Oh well, enjoy!

Brutality Is All I've Ever Known

Mickey's first kiss was sweet. Gentle, almost loving. He was far too young to know better, his mask was too big for him and it fell all the time. It was his best childhood memory.

Except it wasn't. He spent years to banish it from his mind until everything he could remember was an orange strand of hair wrapped around his too fucking small hands and curves that were definitely not girl's. Even at the age of ten Mickey had been a perverted fuck and had known where to touch.

The same night his dad sat him down, his breath not stinking of alcohol, but that would change soon, the boy knew it would, and told him that he knew something good would come out of him. That Mickey would make their family name famous not shame it like his brothers had. Like his mother. And then he'll find himself a bitch, like Mandy, right, because he deserved a girl like her, only one that COULD COOK (that was followed by a 'Fuck you.' coming from the kitchen).

Mickey scowled and told him to mind his own fucking business. He had never wanted to cry so much. This was also the day he filled his walls with boobs and pussies.  
It was the day he started connecting kissing with falling in love and falling in love with making his dad mad, which would result in him buried two feet under the ground of somebody's backyard.

It was the last time he thought of the boy with ginger hair and no face.

Big fucking day, huh?

Mickey had never been good in school. He couldn't remember the last time he went to that shit. He was going to spend his whole life in jail, anyway, so why start now?

He was good with numbers, though. Maybe the only thing he didn't suck at except of beating up people with a bat. He had never told anyone, what was he - a bitch on her first sleepover, sat on a bed, that had never been designed for something as gay as that, and telling her friends who had checked her out? Yeah, over his dead, rotting body. Who was he going to tell anyway?

Once he had beaten up the class' nerd- one of the Gallagher's clan, the fuck if he knew his name when the shit had hinted that Mickey was smarter than he was showing. He had reduced him to a pulp in front of a good deal of 50 noisy fuckers, proving not only that he wasn't one to be messed with but that also he couldn't even count. The second one had been easier, he had just messed up the numbers when he had counted the kicks directed to Gallagher's bloodied form. Funny thing was the other boy had actually corrected him a few times, especially when he had went back to one. He was a brave one, that Gallagher.

Later on he learned that bravery and stupidity, but weren't they the same thing, ran in the family.

Everyone knew Mickey sucked at school and he was even worse in caring about it. So it didn't came as much of a surprise when his teacher told him that he would have to repeat the year. He just shrugged, it wasn't like he had something to do after school. Mister Who-The-Fuck-Cares wasn't done. His arm fell on Mickey's shoulder, moving to a dangerous territory it wouldn't be able to walk out of with all its fingers.

"Of course we can do something about that?" His voice was low and lewd and Mickey almost puked on his pink sweater.

He had never left school in such a hurry. When he went home it was almost as bad. Dad was drunk again, or high, who cared but what made his blood freeze was the fact that he could hear movement in Mandy's room. That fuckwad, he had told her to get lost when Terry was like that.

Mickey tried to stop him, but the older man just pushed him like an overly annoying mosquito and snarled at him that maybe someday if he ever graduated and found a job he'll move out and do whatever he wanted. But this was Terry's house and no one would ever command him there.

The next day Mickey fucked a guy for the first time. It was better than he had thought. At least with a guy he could get it up and they were easier to kick out. Plus, they didn't expect him to kiss, something he would never do.

He could barely remember the first handjob he had given, just as he couldn't remember his first kiss. But the reason... it was the exact opposite. Sometimes he dreamed of it. His dad, barely able to stay on his feet, walking toward Mandy's room. Mickey wrapping his arms around his waist, tugging him backward, just a little to turn him toward his room. His dad pushing him on the bed... he...

Each time he woke up from this nightmare he would find wetness on his face that he couldn't admit he knew about. The only thing stopping him from changing his plans for the future from jail to madhouse was drugs and alcohol. And sometimes a small voice in his head that he had no idea how to silence thanked the prick that called itself God that his dad allowed him to get drunk with him.

He had never counted the guys he had slept with. He didn't need to. He remembered every single one of them, the clothes he had stripped from their bodies, the noises they had made, how he had fucked them and what he had imagined when he had done so.

And this was the story of Mickey's life. His first kiss- a nameless, faceless boy with orange hair, his first fuck- some perverted pedo, his first handjob... And as he stood in front of Gallagher's house, something that in its best days could be called the ugliest rose there could be in his hands, he almost wondered how would anyone expect him to be romantic or some shit like that with history like his.

He drew in a breath and knocked on the door before he had chickened out. He had prepared an apology, words different than "Shut the fuck up and go down." he had had an eternity in juvie to think of every single detail, every word Firecrotch could say and how he could respond to that. He had even calculated the possibility Gallagher would just close the door in his face and the result had scared him. Not only for how small of a chance it had been but mostly because he _knew _his redhead so well he had been able to even calculate it.

Every fucking thing he had been about to say just so he could get in Firecrotch's pants immediately flew out of his useless brain when he heard far-too-familiar footsteps. Just before the door opened he threw aside the excuse for a rose, too.

"Hi," was the smartest thing he could come up with when his Gallagher's face appeared with all of his 84 freckles, not that he had counted them or something gay like that. He tried not to notice how his voice came out slightly breathless.

The boy before him looked tired, black circles around his eyes, but the grin that stretched his lips, the one Mickey had always tried to ignore because one look and it could give him a semi, made his eyes sparkle like some love-stuck teenage girl.

"You are out," the redhead said and it was a complete mystery how he did it without letting the smile fall from his face.

He nodded and then shrugged. He had no fucking idea what he was doing. Sensing that, and fuck him for knowing him so well, Gallagher opened the door wider and disappeared inside.

"There is nobody in," he shouted from somewhere within.

Mickey hesitated for a few seconds before he went inside. Ten seconds later he returned, looked around to see if someone had noticed him and bent down to pick the rose.

He would never say he was glad he had returned for it, even if, especially when, the other boy's smile had been so wide he had been afraid he might break and then where would he find himself another fuck buddy?

"Wow, Mick, I..." Gallagher had finally breathed out, taking the rose gingerly as if afraid it might break. In its condition it was the right way to treat it but something told Mickey that this wasn't the reason why his... whatever... was so gentle. He quickly told the voice to shut up. His crazy voice was enough, now he didn't want to add a gay one."I don't know what... I..."

"Then shut up princess. Look I didn't come here to apologize." He was scowling but Gallagher couldn't have looked happier. "I meant what I said- you _are _a warm mouth to me."

There, that would wipe the smirk off his face. And sure enough the other boy's eye widened in surprise and pain and he clutched the rose to his chest. As if someone would want that piece of shit, anyway. Weirdly, it gave Mickey no satisfaction to see his discomfort.

He tried not to grimace. So what now? His sadistic voice was being replaced by the gay one? That shit wasn't going to let him be in peace until it had found its place under his skin.

Mickey walked the short distance between them, each step heavier than the next, but each one making Firecrotch's eyes widen even more. He was scared, the bully noted with a smirk he couldn't and didn't want to repress. He curled his hand around the back of his Gallagher's head, ignoring the way the other boy tensed and then tried to escape, and connected their lips.

His second kiss was the exact opposite of his first. Harsh, brutal, after the initial shock they were fighting for dominance, hands grabbing, hurting everything in their reach. He wouldn't have had it any other way.

But it was surprisingly familiar, too. Like that orange hair he had in his fist, or the moans that fell from bruised lips when he slid his hands over curves that were definitely not girl's. A face flashed behind his eyelids and he didn't want to open them because he knew he would see the same one, just a little older.

He had been right.

Kisses led to falling in love.

And falling in love... well, it led to happiness.

The redhead finally broke the kiss and Mickey would deny it to Hell and back but he smiled back at his Gallagher. Although it must have looked like a lion showing its teeth to its prey.

"Not so bad to be a fucking warm mouth, huh?" he growled against Firecrotch's neck, pushing their hips together for that delicious friction for his half-hard cock. The fuck? He had been without any for months!

"Come on, let's see if you could show me the qualities of your other body parts."

And that was as close as Mickey could get to 'I love you'.

_For now._


End file.
